Chapter Eighteen
“Trigonometry,” says a voice in the darkness.
For one bittersweet moment I flash into the past, a little girl lost, afraid and alone. With only a wild boy to save me. He had seemed like not enough at first. And then he’d been all I wanted.
I sit up in bed, my gaze finding a silhouette in the corner.
There’s no wild boy left in him. Even in shadow he’s made of long planes and crisp corners. He reclines in a chair, his long leg kicked out, one hand dangling down holding a glass. His other hand holds a book open, a stark sliver of light across the white page.
You came back, I want to shout.
Except that might make him leave. Maybe he actually is still wild underneath all that expensive linen and wool. I have to tread carefully so I don’t spook him.
And so that I don’t m
